


how to ask harley keener to prom in five simple steps: a guide by peter parker

by softspiderlad



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: M/M, Parkner Week 2019, Prom, it's pretty fluffy tbh, slight angst with a happy ending, there's slight angst but not a whole lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 09:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20094703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softspiderlad/pseuds/softspiderlad
Summary: Spoiler alert: it's not actually all that simple.[ parkner week, day two: prom (and a hint of jealously) ]





	how to ask harley keener to prom in five simple steps: a guide by peter parker

**Author's Note:**

> this is not edited and i rushed to finish it before leaving for work but here u go
> 
> how fast did i rush this? well while reading through it after posting i realized i wrote knows instead of nose as one point so take that as you will

** HOW TO ASK HARLEY KEENER TO PROM IN FIVE SIMPLE STEPS **

_ STEP ONE: MAKE A PLAN_

“That’s a horrible plan,” Ned tells him.

Peter sinks his teeth into his lower lip, staring down at the paper in front of him, brows creased together in distress. It’s not a horrible plan, he doesn’t think—but he still reads over it again, slowly, picks up a yellow highlighter and marks all the things that could be fixed up. He marks the flowers—cliché, and he doesn’t know what Harley’s favorite flower is—and he marks the music—he can’t afford a literal band, and he will not ask Mr. Stark to pay for one, thanks—and he marks the list of ideas for what he should say—most of the bullet points are already scribbled out because he’s horrible with wording his thoughts, even when trying to write them down—and by the time he sets the highlighter down, he sees Ned’s point.

The entire fucking page is highlighted.

“I’m going to die,” Peter whispers, sounding genuinely afraid, wide eyes staring down at this bright yellow mess before ripping the page out of his notebook and crumpling it into an angry ball.

Ned snickers, amused. “No, you’re not. You’re going to make a better plan.”

In a way, he’s right—Peter does make a better plan. A few sentences don’t get highlighted in his second draft, and that’s some kind of progress. Doesn’t stop Peter from dropping his head onto his desk and groaning loudly in frustration before throwing that page away, too, though he makes sure to jot down those few good sentences into a separate notebook in the hopes of being able to pick at all the good parts of his shitty plans and stitch something together with the pieces.

“This?” MJ says, when she shows up an hour later with an overnight bag and enough Taco Bell to feed the entire apartment building for the night. She’s pointing at his list of good ideas, which has grown slightly. “This has potential, Parker. Look—” she grabs yet another notebook thrown carelessly on the ground, because Peter has the tendency to stock up on ninety-nine cent spiral bounds whenever he has the spare cash, and they tend to end up scattered everywhere, both at the apartment and in the penthouse at the tower. Plucking a pen from Peter’s pile of pens, pencils, and highlighters, she starts to write, speaking out loud as she jots down something Peter nor Ned can see. “We know his general interests, right? And you know a little bit more because you spend more time with him than we do. You want to make a big, romantic gesture when asking him to prom? That’s fine, go for it, but keep in mind who you’re asking. He’d like a big gesture, but he’d also like a simple one, a more personal one. If you want to make it big, still find a way to make it personal. Lucky for you, I think I know exactly how to do that.”

With that, she picks up the notebook, swivels it around, and gives Ned and Peter a moment to scan over the words. Ned whistles, looks to Peter, who can already feel a grin twitching at the ends of his lips.

“That’s _perfect.”_

_ STEP TWO: MAKE SURE THE PLAN GOES EXACTLY RIGHT UNTIL THE VERY END WHERE EVERYTHING FALLS APART AND GOES TO ABSOLUTE SHIT_

It starts out exactly like it’s supposed to.

Harley gets to school about ten minutes later than the rest of them, makes his way over to his locker with a little bit of a pep in his step. On a normal day, he’ll get his books for his first three classes out, shove the rest of his crap into his locker, and then make his way to first period—Calculus, which is a class he shares with Ned. Peter and MJ are in AP Calc, at the end of the day, but Ned and Harley don’t mind not having them in class with them. Plus, that means Peter and MJ can help them with their work when they get stuck on certain problems. It’s a pretty solid system, really.

Today is different, however, because when Harley goes to open his locker, he finds a simple little envelope taped to the outside of it, with his name written across in what he can instantly recognize as Peter’s handwriting. He falters, brows twitching together slightly, before he reaches forward to pluck the envelope off his locker, instantly turning it around to open it up and see what’s inside.

The first one is simple.

_To find the next clue_

_ Riddle me this_

_ Where is the room_

_ You and I shared a kiss?_

Harley spends a solid minute staring at the little rhyme, and from where Peter is peeking slightly out of the bathroom, he can pretty much see the way his cheeks are lightly dusted with a blush, clearly thinking back on the memory. It had been a few months back, and Harley had been fed up with watching Ned and Betty be all lovey dovey together, which led to him complaining, which then led to him pouting about how he hasn’t been kissed in forever, which somehow led to Peter thinking it was a good idea to just. Lean over and kiss him, no logic or thought behind the action. Harley had turned bright red and Peter had stammered over some kind of justification for doing it, but then Harley grinned and stopped complaining. Neither of them have really brought it us since then, but it’s clear Harley remembers it, because he takes a moment to look up and down the hall before stomping away from his locker, head held high as he makes his way to where decathlon meetings are held.

MJ is waiting for him there, and, without a word, she hands him a second envelope and leaves.

The clues slowly get harder, more abstract and obscure, but Harley is able to figure out every single one, and Peter is really glad that they have a really cool principle, because it took little to no convincing to get them excused from their first few classes. It probably helps that Harley and Peter are top of their class and always make up missed work within, like, a day. Still, things are working in his favor. The plan is going smoothly, and it looks like Harley is enjoying this little scavenger hunt. At least, it did, until Peter had to get into place for the last clue, and he stopped peeking around corners to watch Harley’s reaction.

By the time Harley bursts into the room, he’s practically vibrating from excitement, clutching onto the envelopes with a wide, cheesy sort of grin on his face, and Peter thinks that he already knows where this is going, and god, he’s so nervous, clutching the final envelope behind his back and anxiously shuffling his feet. He parts his lips to say something, but Harley is already barreling into him for a hug, letting out an incredulous laugh, and before Peter can speak up, he exclaims, “You won’t fucking _believe_ what just happened!”

Peter tightens his hold on the envelope, then hugs Harley back, because Harley hugs are quite easily his favorite hugs. He swallows the lump in his throat, confused. “W-What happened?”

“Harry,” Harley breathes. Peter freezes. “He asked me. Harry freakin’ Osborn just asked me to prom.”

There must be a stone lodged in Peter’s throat, because he’s suddenly finding it quite difficult to breathe. “Oh. What, uh… what did you say?”

Harley pulls back and gives Peter a disbelieving look. “Isn’t it obvious?” It isn’t, and Peter’s uncertainty must be pretty clear on his face, because Harley snickers lightly before saying, “I said yes. Pete, you know I had, like, an embarrassing crush on him my first year here. I spent all sophomore year—”

“Daydreaming about him,” Peter finishes, a bit hoarse, nodding his head. He tries for a smile, shoves the envelope into his back pocket, and tells him, “I’m really happy for you, Harley.”

“Thanks, Pete,” Harley says, his grin widening. He looks down, where he’s still holding onto all the clues, and lets out another little laugh before looking up at Peter. “What’s all this for, by the way? The last clue I got said there was only one more, and at this point, I’m starting to think Tony bought me a car, or something, and you’re helping set up some kind of surprise.”

Peter shakes his head, forces a light laugh, and tells him, “No, it’s, um- it’s nothing. I just… I saw how stressed you were, about graduation being next month and trying to get your mom and Abbie out here for it, and I just… I dunno. I thought it’d be fun, or something. I probably should’ve thought of something to put at the end so that it didn’t end up being anticlimactic.”

It’s a half-assed lie, not really believable, but Harley seems to buy it, his features going soft and fond. “Nothin’ that would’ve been better than you. This was… a lot of fun, too, so. Thank you, Peter.”

If there’s an ache in the center of Peter’s chest, he ignores it. “Anytime, Harley.”

_ STEP THREE: DON’T CRY_

“I have a prom date!” Harley announces loudly, practically bouncing his way into the lab with a wide grin stretched over his features. Peter follows after him, trying not to look as deflated as he feels—which, apparently, he succeeds too well at, because when Tony looks up from his project, he’s already grinning.

“Really?” Tony asks, clapping a hand on Harley’s shoulder. He looks at Peter, a glint in his eyes, and Peter manages to smile even as he subtly shakes his head, because yes, he knew the plan, and no, he is not Harley’s date. Tony’s grin falters slightly, confused, before he carefully asks, “Who’s your date, kid?”

Peter digs his nails into his palms and forces himself not to flinch when Harley chirpily says, “Harry.”

It’s almost comical, the way Tony’s head jerks back at that name, staring at Harley incredulously. “Wh—Like, Harry _Osborn?_ You’re going to prom with _Osborn’s kid?_ The heir to Oscorp? Harley, kid, that’s great and all, but it would have hurt less to _literally_ stab me in the back instead of going to prom with the kid that will one day be running the biggest rival company to Stark Industries. I mean, the _betrayal—”_

“Okay, Drama Queen,” Harley interrupts, laughing. “I get the point, but Harry’s really cool.”

“I don’t care if he’s the coolest person in the world, that doesn’t change the fact that he’s an Osborn.”

Their bickering fades to the back of Peter’s mind as he makes his way over to his secluded little table space that Tony made—Harley has one, too, in the other corner of the lab, so that they’re able to work by themselves if they need to, or they can work in the center of the room, at the big tables, and work together. Usually, Peter is more than ecstatic to work with Harley, but right now he can’t even find it in himself to focus on a mere conversation, and he knows he should probably work alone. Chances are, he won’t really be working at all, because when he pulls out his homework to get it done and over with for the afternoon, the words sort of blur together, don’t comprehend in his brain.

Harry Osborn asked Harley Keener to prom before Peter Parker could.

Peter bites down on his tongue so harshly that is draws a little blood, tightening his hold on his pencil and only just barely remembering to loosen his grip before the wood splinters in his hand. He can’t fucking believe this, can’t believe his luck—Harley had been almost done with the scavenger hunt, had been mere minutes away from receiving the final envelope that would ask the question that Peter is too afraid to choke out. Peter had been holding that envelope when Harley came bursting into the room, so excited about being asked by Harley that he’d momentarily forgot about the scavenger hunt entirely, and that envelope has been in Peter’s pocket ever since, feeling like it weighs ten tons (and Peter knows what ten tons feels like—thanks, Toomes—so it really isn’t that much of an exaggeration) and acting as a constant reminder that Peter lost his chance, that Harley is going with Harry, and that signs point to Harley saying no even if Peter had been able to ask, since it’s so clear that Harry is who he wants to go with.

Tears burn at the back of Peter’s eyes, but he blinks them away, because he has no right to cry over this. He never should have assumed that Harley’s flirtations were legit, never should have gotten his hopes up that Harley would want to be more than friends. He never should have tried to ask him in the first place. But it’s fine, because Peter can still go with MJ, because she was already going to be getting ready at his apartment anyway (she’d never admit it, but May and Peter have noticed that MJ’s parents aren’t really around much—Peter’s never met them, only seen them on the slight occasion, and MJ never brings them up, so it’s pretty easy to fill in the gaps) and neither of them really want to go dateless. Even if MJ has a heavy preference for women (she often claims her preference for woman is so dramatic that she’s not sure why she labels herself as bi, but then Peter brings up one of the actors that she’s in love with, and she can’t dispute that), and even if Peter has been hardcore crushing on Harley since sophomore year.

It’s fine, because it’s prom, and Peter will have fun at prom, and he will not cry.

Until he checks his phone and sees a text from May after he gets home.

**aunt may:** Hey honey! Late shift again, sorry, but I left some cash on the counter if you need to get something to eat. If not, take it, anyway, and get yourself a treat. And make sure to let me know how asking Harley went! I’ll be checking my phone whenever I can! Love you!

**peter:** i didn’t get to ask him. harry osborn asked him first and he said yes.

_ STEP THREE: <strike>DON’T CRY</strike> OKAY MAYBE YOU CAN CRY A LITTLE BIT BUT ONLY WHEN HE ISN’T THERE BECAUSE YOU DON’T WANT HIM TO SEE_

Well… let’s just say it’s hard to choke back the tears when home alone. And maybe—just maybe—he uses the money May left on the counter and goes to buy a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, because his heart feels like it’s shattered in his chest and he knows he’s being dramatic but it still fucking hurts.

He goes to school the next day, though, and when he sees Harry and Harley huddled together by the front doors, he just swallows down the bitter taste and makes his way inside, where MJ takes one look at him before letting out a rough sigh and pulling him in for a hug, which he greedily accepts. He doesn’t cry, because he cried a lot last night, but he does let out a choked up laugh when MJ tells him, “I’m glad that I get to go to prom with one of my best friends, but if you think you’ll look better in a suit than me, you’re going to be horribly disappointed, Parker.”

Harley’s voice echoes down the hall, and Peter quickly blinks away the tears that didn’t fall before two arms wrap around him and MJ, joining their hug as Harley asks, “What’s the cuddle party for?”

“I’m offering comfort because Peter just realized that I’m gonna look better in a suit than him,” MJ says simply—not the truth, no, but not exactly that much of a lie, either. “Sucks being shown up by your date.”

“You two are going together?” Harley questions, sounding a bit surprised. Peter lets out a soft sigh, tucks his head under MJ’s chin because he’s feeling clingy and having Harley pressed up against his side is more distracting than he’s like to admit, and he feels it when MJ nods. “Oh. Cool. Super cool.”

Peter ducks away when the bell rings, and he feels a bit glum as he thinks of the fact that Prom is in two weeks, but he pushes that glumness away and reminds himself that he’s going to have fun no matter what.

Two weeks pass in a haze of working on the last of his senior projects that are due during the first week of June—a week before graduation—and tinkering in the lab, going oddly quiet whenever Harley mentions Harry and trying not to notice when Tony throws him sympathetic half-smiles. He doesn’t talk about it, because there’s nothing to talk about, but that doesn’t stop May from sitting him down and coaxing words out of him, or from Tony driving him home from the tower one day so they can chat in the car.

(“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt,” Tony tells him, glancing over at Peter from the driver’s seat while they’re stopped at a red light. “I know you’ve probably already rationalized it, turned it into something logical to make it better, but it can be simple, Pete. And that simple can be that you wanted to ask him to prom and weren’t able to, and that sucks. I’d be upset, too, if I were you.”

Peter shrugs, shrinks a bit in his seat. “It’s not like he did anything wrong. I shouldn’t be upset.”

“You shouldn’t be upset with _him,”_ Tony corrects, “because you’re right, he didn’t do anything wrong, but you can just be upset in general. Everyone gets upset when things don’t work out how they wanted it to. As long as you’re not taking that hurt out on other people, you can still feel it.”)

Before Peter knows it, it’s already prom night, and MJ is barging through the door using the key they gave her, tossing a plastic container at him that he only manages to catch because of his Spidey sense, though he fumbles for a minute with his bowl of cereal before managing to get a hold of both the bowl and the container. MJ kicks the door shut, nose crinkled. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

Peter looks down at his bowl of cereal, then at his stained sweatpants and the old, ratty MIT sweatshirt that he definitely stole from Tony last winter and has adamantly kept because he’s seen his classmates wear college merchandise from their parents and he wants to feel included, dammit. He looks back up at MJ, smile a bit sheepish, and offers a half-assed shrug. “I was having a lazy day.”

“Yeah, well, if I’m going with you, we’re gonna look bomb as fuck,” MJ tells him, sliding a duffel bag off her shoulder and tossing it on the kitchen table. “Finish eating and then go take a damn shower.”

After only a minimal amount of grumbling, Peter obeys, spooning a large bite of cereal into his mouth as he hops up onto the counter, setting aside the plastic container—which, now that he’s looking at it, appears to be some kind of flowery thing. He frowns, speaks around his food to ask, “Wha’s tha’?”

MJ grimaces as a few drops of milk dribble down his chin, but says nothing about it, instead answers his question with a simple, “It’s a wrist corsage. We’re breaking gender rolls tonight, Parker.”

“Oh.” Peter looks at the corsage for another moment, then nods, taking another bite of cereal. “Cool.”

Once his cereal’s been consumed and he’s taken a shower, he makes his way out of his room to find that the entire kitchen counter has been transformed into a layout for more makeup than Peter has ever even seen before. Spotting the wide eyed look on his face, MJ tells him, “I told you, we’re gonna look bomb as hell. Plus, you said Betty was gonna come over, right? To get ready?” Dumbly, he nods, making his way closer to the counter to examine all the products laid out—he won’t lie, he’s watched a handful of beauty gurus on more than one occasionally, partially out of curiosity, mostly because the ability to do makeup is literally an art form and Peter really likes to see art—and he almost asks how MJ got all of this, because there’s some top of the line brands here, but doesn’t get the chance before she says, “Well, Betty really wants to go all out on their makeup, so I got everything I could. Plus, I know Ned said he was getting ready as his house before coming here, but he’ll probably end up wanting something done, too, when he sees this, and Harley said he wants me to—and these are his exact words—_glitterfy him_ when we get there. No matter how much I said doing makeup in a public bathroom kind of sucks, he insisted, so…”

“I didn’t realize you liked makeup so much,” Peter admits, because MJ isn’t really the kind of person to wear makeup all that often. Occasionally, she’ll have her eye liner done, or something along those lines, when she comes to school, but otherwise, he’s never seen her all done up before.

“It’s more of a hobby than anything else,” MJ shrugs. “My mom wants me to be more womanly, so when I ask for makeup, she buys whatever I want, and whenever I get bored at home or can’t sleep or something, I just have fun with it. Which means I’ve gotten really good at it, too, but I’d rather sleep in more than get up early to do makeup before school, so I’ve never bothered, and I never saw a point in doing it before hanging out with you guys ‘cause we usually just have lazy hang outs. Now sit down.”

Peter grins, dragging over a chair from the kitchen table over and plopping himself in it. He doesn’t think about Harley getting ready at the tower, about Harry complimenting him, about the fact that Peter will see them in just a few hours because they’re all meeting up at a restaurant in Midtown for dinner before heading to the actual dance—no, instead he thinks about how excited he is when MJ scans over the makeup on the counter, humming to herself, before grabbing a primer to start with. Peter’s leg bounces with his usual, uncontainable energy, but he makes sure to keep his head still, even does his best to keep his lip movement to a minimum when he tells her, “Betty’ll be here around four. Ned’ll be here at five.”

MJ nods, glancing over at the clock—three fourty-five. “That means I have fifteen minutes to make you pretty before Betty gets here and takes your place.”

Peter pouts. “I’m already pretty.”

“In that case, we have fifteen minutes to make you drop dead gorgeous. Stop pouting, and don’t move unless I tell you to. Don’t laugh, either, or else I’ll call May and have her come home from work early just to ground you for being a pain in my ass. Seriously, stop laughing or this brush is going up your nose.”

_ STEP FOUR: INSTANTLY FALL IN LOVE WHEN YOU SEE HIM IN A SUIT_

The air gets ripped from his lungs the second he hears the approaching footsteps and looks up to see Harley approaching the table, wearing a three piece suit that’s obviously been tailored to fit him to perfection. The suit is fairly simple and sleep, black with a baby blue trim that matches Harley’s eyes. There’s a pink flower tucked into the chest pocket, and his shoes are just as simple yet just as sleek as the suit he’s wearing. When he meets Peter’s gaze, he grins, and then he freezes, and his eyes go wide.

Harry—who Peter doesn’t dislike, really, they’ve been friends forever, but that doesn’t help the bitter taste in his mouth—nudges Harley slightly, looking vaguely concerned. “You okay?”

“Holy _shit,”_ Harley says, probably a bit too loud for a semi-busy restaurant, before he scrambles forward and plops himself in the chair to Peter’s left, eyes flickering over Peter’s face with a giddy sort of laugh. “Jesus, Parker. MJ said she was doing your makeup, but—wow. You look straight out of a movie.”

“Thank you,” MJ says from her seat on Peter’s right, a smug sort of grin on her face, clearly satisfied.

Harley looks at her, his eyes bugging out even more, hands twitching where they’re resting on the table top like he’s restraining himself from reaching out and poking at their face. “You have to do mine,” he rushes out, looking over to see Ned and Betty, as well, who have matching color themes for both their clothes and their makeup. He looks back at Peter and MJ, who also have matching color themes, though not as obviously—Betty’s dress matches the trim of Ned’s suit, but MJ is wearing a suit, too, and rather than having the same colors, her and Peter just have complimentary colors, though their makeup does match fairly well. Harley’s grin softens into a normal smile. “Seriously, I feel out of place among all y’all models. Were you still up for doing makeup for me? Oh—!” he turns to Harry, excited. “Do you wanna match like they are, or something? I mean, I dunno if you want makeup, but—”

Harry smiles, and Peter ignores the way his gut twists as Harry says, “That sounds cool, yeah.”

Clearly pleased, Harley turns around again, looks at MJ with wide eyes. “Can we—?”

“Fancy restaurant bathroom or fancy hotel bathroom,” MJ says with a hum, squinting at Harley and Harry for a minute before letting out a sigh and getting to her feet, already reaching for the bag sitting by her chair. “You know my order,” she says to Peter, briefly resting her hand on his shoulder and squeezing it lightly, and when he looks up at her, he swears her soft smile is sympathetic and encouraging, but he pretends not to notice and just smiles back. “Be back as quick as possible.”

“Don’t make them prettier than me,” Peter tells her, grinning.

MJ snorts, rolling her eyes. “I thought we agreed that I made you drop dead gorgeous, not pretty.”

Peter just shrugs, and he pointedly does not look when Harley and Harry get up to go with her, instead starts up a conversation with Ned and Betty while waiting for the waiter to return. He feels someone looking at him for a moment, but he doesn’t bother to see who—he already knows the answer would do nothing more than disappoint him, and his only goal for the night is to enjoy it.

(What he had really enjoyed was the way Harley was looking at him when he first sat down, taking in Peter’s appearance with wide eyes and an even wider smile, but Peter can’t think about that without feeling a little bit sick to his stomach, so he pushes the thought away and laughs at something Ned says.)

When the three of them come back, Peter can’t help but lean over to MJ and murmur, “You’re the worst.”

“You’re welcome,” MJ murmurs in response, some kind of smirk on her face.

Harley had already looked amazing before having his makeup done—and Harley looks amazing all the time, anyway—but with the added bonus of the slightly glittery highlighter on his cheekbones and the only slightly redder than usual color on his lips and so many subtle things—things that match with Harry, yes, but Peter can see the hint of red eyeshadow following the simple eye liner, the same color red as the trim of Peter’s suit, and he elbows MJ in the side when he notices it, but she just keeps smirking—he feels dizzy and overwhelmed and _jesus christ why is he so fucking stunning i cant do this i cant fucking—_

Dinner goes by in a blur, Harley a complete and total distraction to his left, MJ a steady shoulder to lean on to his right, and it’s fun, and it’s nice—these are his best friends, after all, and they’re mere weeks away from graduation, all at the top of their class—but Peter, as always, is hyperaware of Harley, always finds himself looking his way, taking in the complimentary contrast between Harley’s complexion and the form fitting suit, as well as the way the glittery highlight catches his eye whenever Harley moves, turns his head, laughs, smiles. Peter down three glasses of water while they eat and his mouth still feels dry.

Prom itself is a whole other affair.

Midtown is not a poor school, not by any means, but it also isn’t the richest school in New York. It’s well funded by the donations made by more well off parents, though, and Tony may have slipped a hefty donation to them with the specific instructions to use it for prom. Peter still isn’t sure why, but he’s grateful nonetheless, because they’ve managed to book a pretty nice hotel—not just for the dance, but rooms, as well, though the few seniors that aren’t eighteen yet had to have a parents and/or guardians sign a form full on field trip style to make sure it’s okay to stay overnight at the hotel and provide permission for them to room with the person of their choice. Tony already said that he’s gonna have Happy bring them takeout and overnight bags at around eleven, when is when Peter said they’ll probably be heading up to their rooms for the night, so it’s a pretty sweet deal, really. The hotel is nice, and from the photos that the school showed them, the rooms are pretty damn nice, too.

Also, there’s a disco ball, which is just super fucking cool—so cool, in fact, that Peter gets distracted by it, and then he gets distracted by people coming up to compliment him and MJ, and then he gets distracted by MJ smirking and telling him that she succeeded in making them the hottest people at prom, and then he gets distracted dancing with MJ and Ned and Betty, and he knows that Harry and Harley are dancing with them, too, but he doesn’t pay close attention to them because he’s having fun and the pang in his chest that he’ll inevitably feel looking at them would just ruin his fun.

Then a hand carefully wraps around his wrist, and he has to look now, has to glance and see Harley looking right at him before nodding over to the left, a silent gesture asking to get away. Peter swallows the lump that suddenly lodges itself in his throat, glances back at MJ, but she just nods at him and turns around to tug Harry closer and make the circle smaller, six people down to four. Peter takes a deep breath, then lets Harley weave them through the crowd, towards the double doors the lead to the restrooms and a catering area. They don’t go to either of those, though—no, Harley turns his back from them instead, and guides them to the left, until they find an exit that brings them out into the alley behind the hotel. Peter takes a deep breath of fresh air, the action greedy, and shuffles his feet. “What, uh—What’s up, Harls?”

“I…” Harley trails off, let’s go of Peter’s arm and stuffs his hand into the front pockets of his pants, nervously sinking his teeth into his lower lip and he rocks back and forth from his toes to his heels. Ot makes Peter anxious, but he tries not to show it as Harley murmurs, “I might have, um… might’ve found something that I don’t think you meant for me to find, but I think you dropped it, or something, and then I was gonna just pick it up and give it back without lookin’, but then I saw that it was- was, um—”

“What?” Peter asks, fear already laced into his words. “What did you find?”

Silently, Harley squints up at the sky, almost looking like he’s just trying to see the stars despite them being in the middle of Manhattan. Then, still silent, his reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a crinkled up envelope, flipping it over in his hands without looking down at it.

Peter feels sick, just a little bit. “That’s—”

“The last clue,” Harley finishes, brows furrowing slightly, and now he looks down, down at the envelope with some kind of frown. “It was just… sitting on the floor, at the tower. Probably fell outta your bag.”

_ STEP FIVE: PETER.EXE HAS STOPPED WORKING_

Well, Peter’s been adamantly trying not to look at the damn thing, so it makes sense that it falling from his backpack wouldn’t have grabbed his attention. Still, dread is forming like a ball of lead in the pit of his stomach, heavy and aching and making him think he might bard. “And you… you read it?”

“I wasn’t gonna, but yeah,” Harley admits, with a sheepish sort of shrug. “I saw that it was from that scavenger hunt, y’know? Figured it was just one you forgot to put up or something.”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut, curls his hands into fists at his side, nails digging into his palms as he bites his lip so hard he draws blood. Speaking around this swelling panic is not an easy task, but he manages to swallow roughly and choke out a simple, “’m sorry.”

Harley looks up suddenly, perplexed. “Wh—sorry? Why the hell are you sorry?”

“Shouldn’t’ve—” Peter gestures vaguely at the envelope. “Shouldn’t’ve tried to ask. You like Harry.”

“I liked Harry,” Harley corrects simply, one eyebrow cocked slightly. “I liked him sophomore year, and then I stopped liking him. He’s not, like, my boyfriend or anything.”

Now that doesn’t add up. Peter frowns, confused. “But then why did he ask you to—?”

Harley cuts in quickly, explaining, “He thought you and MJ had already decided you were going together, and Ned and Betty were already going together, so he wanted to take me so that we’d both have dates. We’re here as friends, Pete, nothin’ more. The only reason I said yes was because I was too scared to ask you, and even if I don’t like him anymore, my inner sophomore self still got excited, so…”

Peter blinks once, shaking his head. This doesn’t make sense. His brain just can’t seem to piece together what Harley is trying to tell him. “You were scared to ask… to ask me? Why would you…?”

“Because I like you, Peter Parker,” Harley states, somehow managing to not look terrified as he meets Peter’s gaze. “I really fucking like you, and I think the reason my crush on Harry died is because I had such a bigger crush on you. And if I had pulled my head out of my ass, if you had given me this, I would’ve told Harry I changed my mind ‘cause I’d much rather be here with you. As… As more than friends. As dates, real dates, and… and maybe boyfriends, if you wanted that. If it’s not too late.”

“But…” Peter can’t wrap his mind around this. “But you looked so excited. I thought…”

Harley takes a subtle step forward, closes a little bit of distance between them, eyes earnest and wide and glancing down at Peter’s lips them back up again. “You thought wrong,” he murmurs, soft. “I… I want you, Pete. Not Harry, even if I did have a crush on him once. I just want you.”

Peter has to blink away tears, knowing that MJ would single handedly murder him if he messed up the makeup she did, and he can’t really stop himself from flinging himself forward, pulling Harley into a hug, a chin hooked over his shoulders, arms wrapped around his waist. Harley doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace, his own arms snaking around Peter’s shoulder, nose buried in Peter’s hair as he takes a deep, slightly shuddering breath. Peter sniffles, lets out a little laugh, and doesn’t even bother moving back as he asks, “I know it’s a little late since we’re already here, but do you wanna go to prom with me, Harley?”

A small, giggly bark of laughter escapes from Harley, and when he pulls back from the hug, he doesn’t go far, just meets Peter’s shimmery gaze with his own starry-eyed ones, and he nods, presses a featherlight kiss to the tip of Peter’s nose, and murmurs, “I’d love to go with you, Parker.”

“That’s a yes, right?” Peter clarifies, grinning.

“Christ,” Harley snickers, and then he kisses him for real, because it just feels right. Both of their faces have a light blush dusting their cheeks when they pull back, and Harley nods once, slightly. “That’s a yes, dumbass. Now’s the part where you take me inside and ask me to dance, by the way.”

Peter huffs a laugh, but he takes Harley’s hand and backs up, heading towards the door, though his eyes stay glued to Harley, a soft smile on his face, even when he snarks, “Are you gonna be that bossy all night? I might ask to switch who I’m rooming with if you end up being that annoying.”

Harley grins, cheeky and smug. “No you won’t.”

“No I won’t,” Peter agrees, with a faux sigh of reluctance. “But I might wish I did.”’

“No you won’t,” Harley says again, this time with a wider, slightly suggestive grin.

Peter rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he concedes, “Alright, fine. You win.”

Harley looks even more smug, but doesn’t respond, just presses a kiss to Peter’s cheek and lets him lead them back inside, where their friends are waiting for them to return.

(And if all of them cheer when they see that Peter and Harley are holding hands, well… that’s no one’s business but their own.)

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr @ spidey-lad 🤙😎


End file.
